


Cat-burglar

by revolutionbarbie



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Modern Era, break-in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5426009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionbarbie/pseuds/revolutionbarbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire had factored in a variety of risks before attempting the break-in, but he hadn't considered the possibility that he would be distracted by a cat mid-burglary and then be discovered by the far too level headed owner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat-burglar

Enjolras knew he shouldn’t work in the dark. When they had lived together in college, Combeferre had repeatedly scolded him for not turning on the lights and only using the light of his laptop to see the reports he had spread out on the table. He had even bought a timer to attach to the lamp on his desk so it would turn on when it got dark; but even that had required too much time that could have been spent working. To him at least (and to none of his friends) it made more sense to work through for a few hours after sunset, and then finish for the day and have dinner rather than taking breaks in between to cook and turn on the lights. Of course, he usually didn’t actually finish working until gone 11pm. 

There was one thing he would take breaks for though, and that was currently winding itself around his ankles and purring. When the local animal shelter had been overpopulated with cats (and thus would have to either move them elsewhere or euthanise them) the ABC society had run a fundraiser and adoption drive, and seven of the group had adopted cats of their own. Archimedes, the big white cat at his feet, had been in the shelter for years. Possessing a squished face, nicked ears, and a host of medical problems, they hadn’t thought they’d ever re-home her. Enjolras had taken a shine to her immediately, and despite her grumpy expression she settled in very quickly. 

He’d take a break to feed her and usually she’d curl up on his lap and sleep while he worked, it was rare for her to be so restless. Saving the report he was working on, lest the laptop explode and he lose all of it (a very real concern, I’m sure you understand), Enjolras picked her up and carried her over to the kitchen. She hopped down onto a barstool at the kitchen island and meowed at him. 

“You’ve had dinner.” He murmured, flicking on the kettle and pulling his favourite mug out of the cupboard (it was in the shape of a cat, with a tail for a handle) Courfeyrac had given it to him a few weeks back as a joke, but it was the perfect size for an evening hot chocolate. Archimedes meowed again from the barstool and he sighed. “Fine, but this isn’t going to be a regular thing.” He said. She jumped down and sat in front of her bowl. He scooped half a tin of her favourite cat food into it and mushed it around for her, and then gave her a stern look. “Not a regular thing.” Archimedes didn’t look up from her food. 

After her food Archimedes strolled off into the bedroom, no doubt to sleep on Enjolras’s pillow and shed all over it and Enjolras went back to working, this time with a hot chocolate to sip. By the time he looked up from it again the room was almost pitch black, and eerily quiet. He wasn't usually bothered by being alone in his apartment, but without Archimedes purring away in his lap, it felt very empty. He took off his headphones, designed specifically to block out traffic noise from outside, and set them on the desk. A draught brushed over him and he frowned. 

While it wasn’t a penthouse there was no denying his apartment was nice. It had been a gift from his parents when he graduated; although they disagreed with everything he stood for they didn’t want him living in a terrible place, he was still their son after all. He had been planning on rejecting the gift, but Combeferre had talked him down. Rejecting it would accomplish nothing, they already knew and ignored his stance on inherited wealth, but having a good apartment would give them a base to start from, and make it easier for them all to keep the ABC Society going. His apartment was big, and warm and safe, and was not prone to draughts. 

He wandered over to the bedroom door, wondering if he’d inexplicable left the window open in the en suit. In the dark he could see the blurry outline of Archimedes on his pillow, and could hear her purring, but there was also a shadow passing over her head. 

“Archimedes?” He reached up to flick the light on and froze when he heard a gruff voice from the other side of the room.

“Shit. I can explain.”

Grantaire knew stealing was bad, he hadn’t escaped that lesson as a child, and had been mugged enough times in the city to know how bad it made people feel. It was sometimes a necessity however, desperate times and all that. His best friend Eponine had convinced her crime-lord parents to let her younger brother Gavroche live with her instead, but in exchange they wanted $500 a month to make up for ‘lost income’. She agreed (anything to get him away from their poisonous influence) and at first it had been fine, she worked two jobs, and freelanced when she could, but then the coffee shop she worked at cutback their evening staff (which meant her) and Gavroche had needed glasses and after all the expenses had gone out, she realised she didn’t have enough spare to pay her parents and her rent. 

To fit into the ‘starving artist’ stereotype he loved so much, Grantaire also didn’t have much disposable income. Whatever he had he snuck into her wallet, but she was still short about $200, so burglary it was. He wasn’t going to take much, just a few things that the owner would think they’d lost. An iPod maybe, an expensive pair of shoes or fur coat perhaps; he was only going to hit the expensive apartments, those who could afford to lose a little without it setting them back at all. And then in a few months he would replace whatever he’d taken when the money came back from his commissions. Unless it was fur, in which case, fuck those guys they deserve to have it stolen. 

He’d scouted a few apartments that week on his way home from the morning bar-shift, but one had stuck out in his mind. It was the fourth floor, so he’d need to climb a little, but the ledges were wide and solid, and the lights were almost always off. He’d looked at the average rent on the apartments, and was 100% sure that anyone who lived in the building wouldn’t miss one pair of shoes. He didn’t tell Eponine what he was planning, she would be furious with him for risking it, but he did mention it to Bahorel (a boxing friend) just in case he needed bailing out, or stitching up. 

He went by the apartment straight from work and waited around at the park across the street for an hour to see if any lights turned on. Nothing did. Grantaire was becoming quite concerned that no one actually lived there and he would break into an abandoned apartment. Which unless he could take the floorboards would be a colossal waste of time and energy. 

Before he boxed Grantaire had taken ballet and gymnastics so keeping his balance while climbing wasn’t much of an issue, so long as he didn’t look down, or think about the possibility of being pushed off the ledge by a disgruntled occupant. Luckily most people had their blinds down or curtains drawn, so the likelihood of anyone spotting his legs as he clambered up was low but still a concern. By the time he reached the fourth floor a good 15 minutes had gone by and he was exhausted. 

Whoever lived in the apartment hadn’t put down their blinds, he could see straight into the bedroom. Admittedly it was so dark that he couldn’t see much, but it looked deserted except for a cat curled up on the bed. After a small rest, which was more to build up the courage to actually break in than anything, Grantaire set about figuring out how to pry the window open. He could probably take out the window pane with enough work, but damn it would take a long time and a lot of effort. Breaking it would be too noisy though, really he needed a way to pick the lock on the other-side and ….oh. 

He slid the window up above his head and sighed. It hadn’t been locked. Either someone was in the apartment, or they figured living on the fourth floor was protection enough from thieves. From the silence he guessed the latter. Leaving his bag on the window ledge he slipped down into the room, taking care to avoid knocking anything. The cat on the bed looked up as he crept across the floor, blinking at him slowly and then yawning and ducking its head again. It wasn’t exactly a cute cat by normal standards, but it was fluffy enough that the urge to go over and pet it was difficult to resist. 

Priorities. He could pet the cat before he left, first he needed to find things to steal. The wardrobe was partially open, and he slid it the rest of the way. Looking at how carefully everything was organised Grantaire figured the apartment must belong to a middle-aged manager, white shirts and black trousers dominated one half of the wardrobe, and there was even a nook of the wardrobe dedicated to an array of ties. Shoes were arranged on the shelf above and below the shirts; there were several pairs of expensive black dress shoes, and sturdy brown leather boots, but there were also a surprising amount of battered converse. 

He took a pair of the leather dress shoes, and three of the least conspicuous looking ties with their (probably solid silver) tie-pins attached. There was a thick green pea coat at one end of the wardrobe by a designer Grantaire couldn’t pronounce with a pair of winter gloves dangling out the pocket. They were sturdy and lined with soft wool, and Grantaire ached with the longing for decent gloves. It was already starting to get cold, and every morning he would get into the studio and spend half an hour trying to warm up his joints. He didn’t dare take the gloves, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sell them on without at least a little sorrow. It was better for all involved that they stay there. He did take the pea coat though, and stuffed them all into his backpack. 

He would have enough to make up the $200 that Eponine needed, and maybe a little extra to go into the ‘replace stolen items’ collection tin which would soon make an appearance in his flat. He zipped up the bag and put it back on the window ledge. One last thing. The cat was so friendly he was half tempted to try and take her with him; she rolled over when he fussed her and began drooling on his hand. Her purring was so loud he barely heard the floor outside creak. 

“Archimedes?” Someone, a man, asked into the dark. Grantaire froze.

“Shit.” The light flicked on. The man in the doorway must have been around his age. He was so beautiful. Grantaire was so going to jail. “I can explain.”

They stared at each other in silence for a moment. The cat, Archimedes perhaps, continued purring, butting her head against Grantaire’s hand when he stopped fussing her. 

“Go ahead then.” The man offered. “Why exactly are you in my bedroom, petting my cat, at one in the morning?” 

Grantaire cast around for answers, something bizarre but believable that could get him off the hook. “I was robbing you.” He blurted. The man frowned, and looked at the cat.

“Of my cat?” He asked. 

“No. Not of your cat. Of other stuff. Non-living things. Like shoes. Unless your shoes are alive.” Grantaire was aware he was rambling, but in all his prep work for the break in he didn’t plan what to do if he were caught by someone, especially someone so attractive. 

“You broke into my apartment, on the fourth floor, in the middle of the night to steal shoes?” Grantaire nodded. “I see. Carry on then.” The man leant against the door frame. They started at each other for a long moment. 

“Come again?” Grantaire was sure he was hallucinating now. 

“If you’re willing to risk falling from the fourth floor, or worse, being assaulted by the inhabitant -do you have any idea how many people in this building keep guns?- for a pair of shoes, then you clearly need them more than I.” Definitely hallucinating. Or maybe this was a stalling tactic, this guy could already have called the police on him. 

“Uh…” The man raised an eyebrow. “I hadn’t prepared for this eventuality.” He admitted. 

“Would you like me to give you moment to compose yourself?” The blond offered. 

“No, no. That wont help.” Eponine was not going to believe any of this when he told her later, over several glasses of whisky. “I should probably go.” 

“If you’ve got everything you need.” The man replied, as Grantaire edged over to the window. “Oh, one minute.” The man ducked back into the other room. He’d been buying time, Grantaire knew it, he’d probably gone to get a gun, or let the police in and Grantaire would never see the sunlight again. Eponine would be furious with him, not for the stealing, but for the getting caught and making her visit yet another person in prison. The man returned in the middle of Grantaire’s crisis but instead of bringing the police or a gun with him, he handed Grantaire a business card. “If you ever need assistance, economic or legal, feel free to give us a call.” 

Grantaire stared down at the card; it was creme with elegant red script reading The ABC Society and a set of phone numbers and names underneath that. Was this guy part of a cult? “Right.” He tucked the card into his back pocket. “Will do.” Flustered, Grantaire stumbled into the wall. “I should get going.” He picked up his bag and got half way through hoisting himself out of the window when the man gave a startled yell. 

“Are you trying to break your neck?!” He demanded. Grantaire paused and glanced back at him. 

“Not actively?” He asked, confused.

“I can’t believe it needs saying but please use the door, not the window.” The man rubbed his forehead wearily and Grantaire hopped down. 

“That makes much more sense.” He scooted past the man into the living room, and tried not to take much notice of how nice the apartment was. Mainly, he tried not to laugh at the cat mug next to the laptop. For how weird this guy was, there was a possibility he was part of a cult. The man walked him to the door and unlocked it for him. Grantaire hesitated in the doorway. 

“If you’re planning on stealing clothing from anyone else, please be careful. There are a lot of people who would be more than happy to shoot any intruders, even if they’re just looking for clothes.” Grantaire nodded. 

“I’ll be extra careful. Promise.” He said with a wink. The man blinked at him, his eyes widening a little. They stared at each other for a tense moment. “Well, this was nice. We should do it again sometime.” Grantaire regretted the words the moment he said them. The man let out a huff of laughter. “I gotta go.” Before he could embarrass himself further, Grantaire darted off down the corridor to the elevator, repeatedly hammering on the ground floor button. As attractive as the blond was, Grantaire sincerely hoped they never met again, else he might melt into a puddle of awkward. 

 

Closing the door, Enjolras wondered how he always found himself in the middle of odd situations. He hoped the man would call the ABC Society soon, not only as it would give them the opportunity to help him (burglary was very dangerous, even for a polite burglar) but also because he doubted any of the others would believe him if he told them. Combeferre would probably put it down to a lack of adequate sleep and food. Courfeyrac would be concerned that Enjolras was drinking without him, and had imagined the entire think in an alcohol-haze. If only Archimedes could tell them all what had happened. Speaking of, Archimedes had wandered back into the living room and was rubbing his head against Enjolras’s ankle. “Time to sleep, I think, Archimedes.” He mumbled, bundling the cat into his arms. He would finish the rest of his work later, but after being broken-into Enjolras felt he deserved a lie-down. He'd try and track down the mystery man in the morning too, just in case he didn't reach out for help.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm planning on making this into a series, would you guys be interested? Let me know.
> 
> You can also find me at revolution-barbie.tumblr.com


End file.
